


Making Deposits

by Marzipan77



Series: The Ascended Chronicles of an Interfering Archaeologist [3]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV), Stargate SG-1
Genre: Alternate Universe, Episode: s01e01 Extreme Aggressor, Episode: s04e06 The Instincts, Episode: s04e07 Memoriam, Episode: s05e09 100, Episode: s06 e06 Abyss, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-19 22:41:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17610407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marzipan77/pseuds/Marzipan77
Summary: Daniel has just visited Jack O'Neill in Ba'als prison fortress and has been reminded of a father's fierce and abiding love for his child. In Spencer Reid's world, dark and dangerous and filled with predators and prey, that kind of love is rare. Daniel and Oma have quite a lot to say on the subject to more than one father.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "Each day of our lives, we make deposits in the memory banks of our children." Charles Swindoll

Chapter 1

Daniel strolled around the park, enjoying the dry air, the clear sky, and the sound and sight of children playing. He'd never visited Las Vegas during his lifetime – just the thought of all the crowds, the loud shows and blinding lights, the eager tourists sweating at the tables, likely to lose far more than they could afford was not his notion of a vacation. Teal'c had wanted to go – he'd gone through a spurt of watching the old Rat Pack movies and was enamored with fedoras and flashy suits and Diamond Jim lifestyles. It took Jack giving the Jaffa six seasons of CSI on DVD for Teal'c to change his mind. "Your America's Playground has far too much crime. It is not safe," he'd concluded.

Score one for Jack's taste in media. Daniel smiled. Or, at least, for Jack's clever ability to distract Teal'c in the most efficient way possible short of a firefight or a chance to spar. Jack might act the clueless colonel, but his insight into what made each one of this teammates tick was deep and wide. Daniel's eyebrows crinkled. Scenes shifted behind his eyes. Standing alone in a concrete tunnel after Sha're's abduction. Jack, quiet and controlled, offering him a hand, a word, a shoulder. Jack, one hand on Daniel's bloody cheek in Apophis' ship, those dark eyes communicating so much more than his words. The space-monkey hug. Grasping Daniel's hand atop the DHD in Alar's tunnels and apologizing. At the end, it was Jack's presence at Daniel's bedside, words drawn out of him with agonizing effort that had meant the most. That last look, quietly accepting Daniel's decision and releasing Daniel's spirit to the universe. 

Jack's friendship had come to Daniel's memory frequently lately. Ever since Ba'al's prison. Since the Tok'ra Jack had reluctantly accepted had betrayed him, forcing Jack back to Ba'al's stronghold and then abandoning him without a clue. Since Daniel had hidden from the Others within the galaxy's stardust to tweak Teal'c's dream and give Jack a chance to escape.

Daniel dug the toes of his sneakers into the edge of the sand pit where the smaller children played. His discussion in the cell with Jack twisted in his stomach. After all these years, he hadn't known – hadn't realized. Jack still hated himself. Hated himself for Charlie's death. Down deep, buried where others couldn't see it day by day, Jack would never feel worthy. Worthy of Ascension. Hell, worthy of friendship, of life. 

What hurt the most was that Daniel should have known. And, if he was being honest, in some corner of his heart, he had. For two men so separated by philosophy and personality, Daniel and Jack had twin souls. Hearts filled with the pain of loss and the gnawing teeth of guilt. Daniel had chosen to go, to ascend so that he could throw off his past and chase through the universes to help others, to purge his sins. Jack chose to stay. To live on and fight to protect others on Earth. Daniel hoped for a future where his sins could finally be purged – Jack, for all of his Catholic upbringing, believed in – welcomed - his eternal damnation. As if his son, Charlie, was waiting for him at the Judgment Seat, eager to see his father burn.

Daniel had sent the sliver of thought to Teal'c. He'd helped aim Yu's attack ships. He'd stepped inside that cell one more time to warn Jack, to watch his friend's eyes light up with hope as he stepped away from Daniel and back to his physical life. Daniel had severed one more tie to his best friend. It had been the right thing to do, for Jack. It let Jack live his life on his own terms, just as Jack had done for Daniel on his deathbed. But, damn it, Daniel missed his friend. He wanted more for him. He'd lingered, breathing out a cloud of power to ease Jack's race back to the Stargate and safety. He'd returned to the SGC to make sure the man was healing. To convince himself that Jack would be okay. To say good-bye – for now.

As Daniel had watched Sam and Teal'c take care of their friend, Oma had swooped in and surrounded Daniel's spirit with light and movement, carrying him from the SGC and back into the universe. Daniel didn't fight her. He knew the Others would insist on distance, fearing that Daniel would become too attached, too committed to helping his friends, to standing between them and the natural working of the world. He snorted. He was already hearing the nickname 'Guardian Daniel' around the multiverses.

But Daniel hated leaving. He hated the confusion and fear that swirled within his spirit.

"Muddy water is best cleared by leaving it alone."

Daniel had bowed his head and accepted Oma's wisdom. She'd been right. Daniel raised his eyes to the horizon. Somehow, staying near his friends, lingering beside Sam's tear-filled mornings and Jack's sleepless nights had only deepened Daniel's doubts about his life. About how he had never fulfilled his promises to Sha're, he'd never met any of his goals. On Daniel's self-made scoreboard, he always turned up in the loss column. Now, after visiting a few other realities and listening to the inner dialogues of countless others, Daniel wondered if his life was all that different from many others'. Others who felt they came up short. Failed to protect the ones he cared about the most.

Finally, he'd seen the wisdom of leaving his friends – for now. Besides, this couldn't wait. 

The laughter of children's voices drew him from his thoughts and Daniel adjusted the glasses that seemed too big for his face. He'd collected his memories of childhood, put together this small, six-year-old frame from fragments of memory, and had painted himself with a child's clothes and hair and aspect. Around him, the other children ran and played, a few girls and boys enjoying the sunshine of a Sunday morning, their parents or care-givers lingering around the edges, drinking coffee, chatting, flirting, sharing gossip or advice, keeping half an eye on their kids.

They had no idea there was a predator here. Someone watching, waiting, studying their children far more closely than any parent. 

A dark presence emerged from the parking lot. It dimmed the bright sunshine, drawing bird-song, and laughter, and warmth all around itself like a magical cloak that could hide what was underneath: ugliness, disease, rot – evil. Daniel turned his back and hurried to the swings, throwing himself down on his belly and pushing off with his feet.

Little Riley Jenkins smiled, swinging slowly next to him. A beautiful child, Riley was quiet, reserved, longish hair drifting across his face. Daniel looked away and steeled himself for what must come next. It was for the best, he reminded himself. The predator hadn't caught sight of Riley, yet. Hadn't lingered at the edges and focused his dark intent on this one boy. He hadn't followed Riley to the little league field and then home. And now, he never would.

A spark left Daniel's spirit and severed one of the links on Riley's swing, dumping the child into the dirt. A sharp snap – sudden pain – and Riley cried out.

"Riley! What happened?" A tall man dropped his coffee and raced to his son's side.

"The swing – it broke –" Riley panted, his voice filled with tears. He held his arm close to his chest.

The father gathered his son up in his arms and carried him away, being careful not to jostle the child. Riley would be fine, Daniel told himself. The finger had broken, but it would be set and healing within minutes. And considering what had been in the boy's future without Daniel's interference, well …

Daniel turned around to sit in the swing as the Darkness approached. It didn’t notice Riley and his father hurrying away – small, fierce eyes were focused on the smaller boys on the playground – light haired, sweet-faced boys. The man strolled towards the playground. He was a beige man. Light brown hair. Beige jacket. Khakis. Unassuming. Soft. A little geeky. Wide face, glasses, dull, over-sized clothing. It wasn't until one looked beneath the surface, dived past the careful mask, that the writhing spirit, the bloated, filthy soul was obvious.

Gary Michaels was taking his daily walk through the playground, seeking his next victim.

A slight breeze stirred the sand, set children coughing, turning away, and grabbed their parents' attention. Each adult took a moment to step away from their conversations to check on their children. Each child took the opportunity to ask for a snack – a drink – help with their shoelaces or zippers.

Daniel sat alone, the only child untended. 

"Hey there."

Daniel looked into the eyes of a monster. That was fine. He knew just how to handle monsters. "Hi."

Michaels, his hands in his pants' pockets, glanced around. "Looks like your mom has wandered off."

Daniel shrugged and lowered his gaze to the sand. "She and daddy are busy."

Michaels hesitated. "You're here by yourself?" He couldn't quite keep the gasp of hope out of his voice.

"Uh-huh." Daniel planted a toe in the sand and nudged the swing back and forth.

"Well, maybe we should go look for your mom and dad. It really isn't safe for you here by yourself."

Daniel stared up at the man, watching the heat curl behind his eyes. "Okay." He hopped off the swing and let Michael's place one sweaty palm on his back, easing him towards the parking lot.

They passed the benches on the way. Benches where men hunched over chessboards, eager for a game. One lone child, his hair long, his plastic-framed glasses awkward on his small face, had just beat a man six times his age. A woman with long, frizzy, blond hair had one hand on his shoulder. 

As Daniel and Michaels passed, she turned, her unfocused gaze suddenly sharp and bright. She frowned at Michaels, tightening her grip on his son's slim shoulder. She had taken a step towards them when her gaze slipped down to take in Daniel.

Her eyebrows lifted, eyes widening. She folded her hands against her chest, her mouth open in surprise.

Daniel smiled up at Diana Reid and nodded, one finger pressed against his lips. Diana was one of the special people, those who saw beneath the physical world. It was a difficult life, a life of confusion, of a jumbled reality that dipped and twisted, fading in and out like a dream. In ancient times these people were labeled Seers and Mystics, but in modern Las Vegas, Diana was stamped as mentally ill. Schizophrenic. Daniel took a deep breath and forced himself to keep walking. He'd see her soon.

Gary Michaels took Daniel to a closed rest-stop along the highway. He was too smart to bring his victim to his own home where evidence would link the child to him through blood or DNA or other small traces. Daniel remained submissive, asking questions but never fighting the man. Michaels' desire for smaller children, for those who could never hope to fight him off was more than sexual – it was cowardly. Straight from Hell. Target the weakest, the most fragile. If Michaels had turned out to be a Goa'uld, Daniel would not have been surprised.

But, no. That would be too easy. Monsters didn't have to be aliens. They didn't all have sarcophagus-driven egos and tens of thousands of years of tyranny to build on. Some monsters looked a lot like men.

Once the door was wedged behind him, Michaels turned to Daniel and reached for his belt. "It's warm in here, why don't you take your shirt off?"

Daniel looked down at himself and pursed his lips. "I don't think so, Gary." When he lifted his head, he had grown to his adult size and dressed himself in desert robes, the light of his inner being shining in angry swirls of red and gold. "In fact, I'd appreciate it if you'd keep your clothes on. You won't need them for much longer."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Twilight. The sun sat on the desert horizon like a lump of melting wax. The air was heavy, not just with heat, but with the feeling of expectation – of something about to happen, the sun acting as if it was holding on, anxious to see whatever wonder was about to unfold.

These times had always been magical, the times of cusp, dawn and dusk, solstice, one year turning into another. The times when one door opened as another closed, as if the passage was left ajar on each side just long enough for something to slip through. Doorways meant a lot to Daniel – stepping through the Doorway to Heaven had changed his life. 

Daniel's being hovered in the warm updrafts, thinned to nearly nothingness. He let the ethereal energy flow through him, cleansing his spirit of any scent of evil. He'd undone the child predator Gary Michaels, but still felt his taint. It reminded him of those few days he'd spent at the Goa'uld Summit meeting, watching and listening, moving quietly among those who would tighten their hands and force all humans into shackles, or worse, into the horrors of slavery to a symbiote lodged inside. 

There was a difference. Today, Daniel wasn't powerless, forced to inaction. Forced to flee with the poison in his hand. He wasn't useless. Ineffectual. Today, he'd had the power to make a difference.

He drew his being into flesh and bone, leaving even the whisper of Michaels' name to burn to ash in the setting sun. The strangeness of the hour lingered, giving the everyday details of the Nevada streets an eerie glow, orange and gold. Daniel raised his head to the sky. Yes, the Others were all around him, Oma beside him. Their presence shifted the universe into stasis – the entire world pausing around this one place, this one moment. Birdsong silent, animals, insects still, the sounds of man – cars, electric transformers, aircraft – gone. Even the faint breeze had quieted.

Daniel turned to consider the house before him. The sunset turned the windows into glowing panels of light, the curtains falling closed as he watched. This one place was untouched by the Ascended, those inside protected, blessed, but awake and alive like no others. Diana had been watching, waiting for him, Daniel knew. Waiting for all of them.

Daniel had barely raised his hand to knock when the Reids' door jerked open and he found himself yanked inside by his shirt collar.

"Is he gone? Did you get rid of him? Because, I swear," Diana Reid shook him, her slim build masking the strength in the woman, "if you don't, I will."

"Yes. He's gone. I promise," Daniel added when his words didn't seem to penetrate Diana's rage. No, Diana Reid wasn't motionless. She was nearly frantic. "Even his molecules have been destroyed so they don't fall back into reality and taint life." Daniel held his hands out to the side, holding Diana's gaze long enough for her to see the truth behind his eyes and let go of his shirt. 

"Good. Good." She let go and closed the door, her lips pressed together. "He was the darkness I've been seeing around Spencer, wasn't he? At the park, on the little league field." She twisted her hands together as she roamed the open living room, her long hair flying behind her. "Such darkness." She turned back to him, her arms crossed across her narrow waist. "A mother knows." 

Her eyes strayed to Daniel's left, to the unseen being that had accompanied him on this part of his journey.

Oma flowed into the center of the room, energy sparking into the visible spectrum. She stepped into reality, dressed similarly to Diana, long brown hair falling down her back, worn jeans flopping over sandals, a loose, long-sleeved shirt in designs of blue and yellow.

"Yes. A mother knows." She reached out and Diana hurried forward to take her hands. "We mothers have to stick together, don't we?"

Daniel hesitated. This was Oma's task. One that she had insisted on handling herself. Rarely, a person like Diana Reid was born. Many children could sneak a peek behind the veil of reality – monsters under the bed, secret worlds in forests or inside closets. Almost all of them lost their 'other-sight' when they grew up. Diana Reid never had.

Diana Reid had reveled in her special sight as a child, but, growing up, the visions had become torture, sparking only fear and pain. She was on the brink of losing her job, losing her marriage, and scarring her son. It wasn't her fault – she hadn't asked to see beyond the human-focused reality that others could see. Her 'other-sight' had given Diana brilliant insights - into people, into the concepts of love and joy and courage and faithfulness. It had ignited her love for others. But, unfortunately, the longer she 'saw', the more damaging the visions were becoming. In recent years, they had turned her joy and laughter into fear and dread. Into paranoia.

It was past time to act.

The 20th century wasn't a kind place for mystics. Daniel smiled. Or for academics who touted theories that were 'outlandish' or stood out against established thought. His expression fell, shadowed by guilt. Even family, even people who should know better turned a deaf ear to those who claimed to see visions or hear voices. Or to have found something unbelievable in a remote temple.

At least Nick – and Daniel – had been given second chances.

"Go on." Oma turned to send a smile Daniel's way. "We each have our own journey."

Hands in his pockets, Daniel bowed his head and headed down the hallway.

Spencer Reid lay sleeping, a strand of hair lying across his face moving back and forth at his steady breaths. Small and relaxed, those piercing eyes closed, he seemed as any other child. Daniel looked beyond the physical and managed not to gasp at the weight of expectation that laid on Spencer's spirit. Many lives were in Spencer's hands – lives, souls, minds. Like the two young boys Daniel had already visited, this life was colored with loss and pain, the heavy load of adults' cruelty and manipulations, the loneliness of being 'different'. But, this life, Daniel saw, Spencer's life, would come to grow like a plant saturated with sun and water and good soil. Like Harry and Tony, he'd be a good man. A man who thought of others and dedicated his life to helping them.

Only one thing needed to change.

Daniel turned to face the man standing in Spencer's doorway, his hands in his pockets. William Reid had been caught in the Others' power, caught silent and static while he watched his young son sleep. Daniel unlocked the moment with a word.

"Hello." Daniel adjusted his glasses, internally rolling his eyes at himself. It was his go-to 'I'm uncomfortable' move. Ascended or not, when he was wearing human flesh, Daniel couldn't let go of his human mannerisms. Maybe that was good, he decided. He'd deliberately dressed himself in an academic's clothes – khakis, button-down shirt, tweed jacket with the required elbow-patches. William Reid barely looked up.

"You're one of Diana's colleagues."

Daniel propped himself against the other side of the open door. "I'm Daniel. Daniel Jackson."

Reid was frowning, his lips tight. "I don't remember hearing your name. Or meeting you before."

Some part of reality was drifting through Reid's mind. Daniel watched the fleeting moment of worry, the questions rising to the surface. Who was Daniel? Why was he here? Why did William Reid accept his presence so easily?

"I'm visiting from another university. Diana told me about Spencer. She thought I might," he smiled, "offer some insight."

"Are you a psychologist? I'm surprised Diana would even talk to you. She hates therapists of any sort."

"Of course she does," Daniel replied. "They've never understood her. They can't see what she's seen. All they can offer are pills to dull her vision, to make her wander through her life half-awake. Colors dim and voices muted. Is that how you'd like to live your life?"

Reid blinked, finally tearing his gaze from his son to confront Daniel. "Why are you here?"

"To help."

Reid's chuckle was dark. "Help? How? Are you going to wave a wand and heal my wife? Get her to see reason and commit to going to therapy? To taking her meds? Or," he waved a hand towards his son's sleeping form before raking his fingers through his hair, "are you going to make Spencer into – into – "

" – a normal boy?" Daniel finished for the frustrated, stupid man. "No. Who would want that?"

Reid closed his mouth with a snap. "I didn't –"

"Yes, you did. You consider Spencer strange. Weird. He's not like the other little boys, the sons of your friends and family. He doesn't like baseball or toy guns or getting dirty." Daniel took a breath and tried to rein in his anger. He'd been a little boy like Spencer Reid – after his parents' deaths he'd lost himself in books, in journals, in the safe musty smell of libraries and the comfort of his own thoughts. "He's brilliant and unique and caring and all you see is that he's different. He's 'difficult', you 'don't understand him.'"

Reid's hands were clenched into fists at his sides. "I don't," he insisted, his voice trembling with a mixture of disappointment and self-loathing. "I'm not – it's not his fault. It's mine. I know that."

Daniel sighed. He wandered inside the child's bedroom, looking at all the things that decorated his walls and shelves. Half of them were far beyond his age: anatomy charts, thick text books, a slide rule, a graphing calculator, posters displaying the periodic table, quotes by Einstein and Bohr, slim volumes on philosophy, a well-used chess set, and more books than any high school student studying for the SATs would own. But there was another side to Spencer's room. A t-ball bat and glove in one corner. Dinosaur models. A child's artwork in bright, blobby colors. Storybooks lined up alongside classics of literature. 

Daniel leaned one hip on Spencer's desk. This was a room filled by two very different parents. His mother, feeding Spencer's unbelievable intellect and soul, and his father trying frantically to help Spencer hold on to his childishness. His childhood. The life of the body versus the life of the mind. Each was feeding Spencer's future, in a way, but they didn't see that. And neither did Spencer.

All Diana and William saw was war.

William Spencer was losing this battle. And, Daniel knew, he was very close to abandoning the field – running away. Leaving his difficult son and sick wife. Anger sparked in Daniel's soul, and he fought to keep it from his expression and voice.

"I was a difficult child, Mr. Reid. Smart. Sensitive. I wore glasses. Hated sports. I found people – other children – hard to deal with, too. Like Spencer. They were alien to me, their behavior far beyond my comprehension. Especially after my parents died. Left me in a strange culture, with people, I didn't know."

"They died?" The man's voice was barely a whisper.

"When I was eight." He caught William Reid's eye. "Let me be clear - they didn't choose to leave me. They never would have done that. No matter how difficult I might have become, or how I might have frustrated them or pursued a future far from what they might have wanted for me. Because they loved me, Daniel," he tapped his fist against his chest. "They saw me as an individual, not someone to mold and hone and pummel into a shape that I couldn't hope to hold."

Reid swallowed, his throat moving up and down as he stared at his sleeping son. "Is that what I'm doing?"

"Not yet," Daniel admitted. "But it's tempting, isn't it? To deny Spencer the things that seem so far beyond him? To insist he stay with his grade, play sports, put away his books and be like all the other little boys?" Daniel sighed. "You think it will make his life easier if he's like everyone else."

Reid didn't answer.

"That's what scares you, isn't it? You're afraid of doing the wrong thing. Afraid that you're going to screw it up – mangle this unique individual you and Diana are raising." He moved back towards Spencer's father until the man raised his eyes and took a step backward in the face of Daniel's intensity. "Well, you know what, William? It's time to step the hell up and be a father."

"You have no right –"

"Someone needs to tear you away from your self-pity party. Oh, poor William, his son and wife are smarter than he is." Energy sparked from Daniel's roiling spirit. "They're leaving him behind. Talking about things so far over his head he's drowning." Daniel kept moving, backing the other man up into the hallway until he was splayed against the wall. "I have news for you, William. That's what fatherhood is. It's offering your son choices, yes, giving him opportunities to live and thrive and follow his dreams." One hand flat on Reid's chest, Daniel let his power heat the air around them, lift Reid's short hair away from his head. "But, at some point, fatherhood is about setting your son up for success and then letting him go. Letting him pursue his dreams, not yours." 

Dark sarcasm changed Daniel's flow of power from benign to painful. This man didn't deserve to be a father, let alone the father of someone as unique as Spencer Reid. Daniel had known good fathers – he'd just spent some one-on-one time with a man whose entire life was caught up in his fatherhood. Who would never forgive himself for his son's accident. Who would kick William Reid's ass from one end of the Las Vegas strip to the other for considering walking out on his son. Daniel tried to harness his anger, to smooth the crackling spits of flame that were making William Reid wince and shift uncomfortably beneath his hold. But, remembering Jack's face as he rejected Daniel's offer of Ascension, his absolute denial that he was good enough, the desolation in his eyes that he rarely let anyone see – Daniel had no sympathy for a father about to abandon his son just because fatherhood was too hard.

"Fatherhood is about rejoicing when your son succeeds at something far beyond your wildest dreams, not wishing he was a little dumber, a little more average. It's about loving him for what he is, not blaming him for not being what you'd like him to be." Daniel jerked his hand from Reid's chest and released the built-up energy into the wall beside him.

Reid cringed, turning his face away from the heat and light. It didn't leave a mark. It didn't scorch a warning into the wall of this house – a reminder William Reid wouldn't be able to ignore. Fear wouldn't turn him into a good father – a good man. Fear would do more harm than good.

"What makes me sick about this situation is that you aren't even a bad man. You don't abuse your son, you don't even stand in his way. But, right now?" Daniel pointed down the hallway towards the living room where Oma was releasing Diana from her burdens. Taking her sight. Soothing her memories. "Right now, your wife is giving up something utterly precious because she wants to be a better mother to her son. Because she knows she's hurt him – and even one second of pain, one ounce of hurt for Spencer is more than she can bear. You judge her? Think she's too difficult?" Daniel sneered. "She's right – you are weak."

"I know that," Reid whispered.

Daniel shoved off from him, sickened. "Thankfully, Diana – and Spencer – will be strong enough on their own. Now, when you go – and I'm sure you will – you won't be abandoning a small child with a very sick woman unable to care for him. This time, maybe, Diana and Spencer will be strong enough to leave you."

There were tears in William Reid's eyes when he looked at Daniel. "I don't want to leave them."

"Then don't," Daniel snapped back. "But, if you're going to haul all of your doubts and self-pity around this house with you, displaying it for your son to see, showing him how very difficult you find him, then maybe you should." Daniel felt the Others circling closer, drawn to interfere by his anger, the depth of emotion an Ancient should not be tapping when dealing with a 'Lower.' He'd be pulled away, soon. Taken to task.

Fine. He was almost done here. He held William Reid motionless, his open hands framing the man's face. "My gift to you, William Reid, is not for your own good, but for your family's. I give you the gift of love – a heart wedged open, just a crack, just enough to combat your fear. I give you eyes to see the beauty around you – eyes to see the wonder of Spencer's gifts and Diana's sacrifice." 

Daniel's hands glowed, lighting up the man's face. Reid's eyes opened wide, the deep creases on his forehead receding. 

William Reid stumbled, reaching out to steady himself on the doorway of his son's room. What – was someone here? He glanced around. 

Spencer's even breathing drew his attention back to his son. William frowned, tip-toeing into the bedroom, and settled on the edge of Spencer's bed. His heart filled, his growing dread and worry swamped by the knowledge that this small life, this child, was alive, breathing, growing – safe.

A voice sounded from within William's soul. "See that he stays that way. I'll be watching."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The timeline of Spencer's life unreeled in black and white images and blazing scenes of color. After Diana had been … changed … Daniel and Oma had been frequent visitors to the Reid home. Oma visited as a human woman, an old friend, sharing coffee and gossip, staying close enough to make sure the lifting of Diana's visions would do no more harm. Diana had blossomed, gaining self-confidence and balance, her fears dwindling to the average, everyday worries of any parent. Her standing at the university had advanced until she led the entire literature program, even authoring two books on The Hero's Journey: A Study of the Effects of Abusive and Neglectful Home Lives on Characterization in Fiction. 

Meanwhile, Daniel visited Spencer. Unseen, unnoticed, Daniel sat beside the brilliant child on the playground, playfully flipped through pages of his books while Spencer wore himself out studying. He wove a net of protection around him in school, distracting the worst of the bullies as Spencer's intellect rushed him forward academically as if all the other students were standing still. With a strong mother at his back, Spencer lived in the glowing circle of her love, rarely needing to be prompted by Daniel's guiding hand. 

As Diana grew stronger, William Reid grew weaker. A few years later, the two parted, separating lives and belongings and interests while remaining firmly linked and ferociously supportive of their son. In this reality, William visited often, helped his son make friends, and even took him to his first football game. William, seeing Diana's growth and healing, had lost all his complaints, his whining, passive superiority. Confronted with this new woman, one who didn't need her hand held or her meds arranged, William was at a loss. Daniel suspected that it had not been Diana's beauty or brilliance that had drawn William to her in the first place, but rather her neediness. He'd been weak, but she'd been weaker, then. The strong, confident woman she'd become was beyond William's depth.

Daniel stood at Spencer's side when he graduated from high school at age twelve. On the nights where Spencer lay in his lonely dorm room in a college far away from his mother, Daniel made the stars shine brighter through the windows. He interfered with small sparks of warning or diversion at particularly hard moments, but, as Spencer grew older and wiser, shored up by the love and support of his mother and the well-meaning, listening ear of his father, Daniel had contented himself with watching. Watching amazed at Spencer's abilities, his gifts, and regardless of his intellectual advancements, his devotion to helping others.

On the day that Spencer Reid sat in on Jason Gideon's seminar about behavioral analysis, Daniel was watching. And after the last student had drifted away and Spencer approached the lectern, Daniel had been ready.

"Agent Gideon, I'm – "

"Doctor Spencer Reid. Yes. Walk with me." The agent grabbed his briefcase and hurried swiftly up the auditorium steps towards the door.

Daniel swept between them, cutting off Spencer's knee-jerk response to follow the growled order. Just a moment of hesitation gave Spencer time to think before blindly following the arrogant man. "Excuse me," Spencer called out, one long-fingered hand raised at the FBI agent. 

Gideon paused to look back over his shoulder, a look of expectation on his face. 

Spencer regarded the BAU agent. "If you don't have time to discuss our correspondence, that's fine. But I'm teaching a class in fifteen minutes and don't have time to follow you all around campus."

Gideon cocked his head to one side, an intelligent predator bird reconsidering what he'd taken for easy prey. "From your fascination with profiling and your … ideas concerning the Boston Shrapnel Bomber case, I'm surprised you're not interested in talking further." He lifted his hand to the side. "If I'm wrong, we're done here."

Spencer narrowed his eyes. "I'm glad my insights were helpful, Agent Gideon. From my advanced studies in Criminal Psychology and my analysis of Adrian Bale, it seemed the right thing to do to reach out to the FBI. I was happy to read about the team's capture of the bomber before there could be any more casualties." Spencer folded his hands, a move that his mother had taught him that helped him remain in control, reminding him to rein in his usual exuberance – he rarely made the mistake of running off at the mouth in the face of condescension or arrogance just to prove his worth. "I would have liked to hear it from you rather than read it in the papers, but –" he shrugged.

Gideon's chuckle was biting. "Yes, well, as you should imagine, we were a little busy making sure Bale hadn't left us any other surprises."

Spencer's eyebrows rose high. "You did that yourself? You and your team? I'm surprised. I'd been informed that generally, once the BAU had offered its profile and helped local law enforcement formulate a plan of attack, they stayed in the background unless hostage negotiation or further analysis was needed."

Gideon didn't like being challenged, that much was clear by his outthrust chin and pursed lips. He took a deep breath before replying. "I'd been told that Unit Chief Hotchner got in touch. Or did you expect more gratitude than that?"

"He did," Spencer admitted. "And, no, I wasn't expectating a ticker-tape parade for my suggestions. It just surprised me that, after our frequent phone and email discussions it was your Unit Chief that reached out with thanks and congratulations. I understand it was Agent Hotchner who first suggested a more permanent position on the team." His smile was brief. "Your announcement that you were traveling here to speak and 'looked forward to meeting me' was the surprise."

"And, you're not interested?" Gideon shrugged and shook his head, trying to project confusion. This was the foremost profiler of the BAU? If Daniel could see through the man's manipulative attitude, Spencer certainly could.

"I am interested. We could discuss it here or in my office. Or, if you have to run to catch a flight, I can, as Agent Hotchner suggested, come to Virginia for a more formal interview."

Gideon murmured under his breath but didn't move in one direction or the other. "The position of Junior Profiler is available," he admitted tersely. "Of course, I'd have to pull some strings, to get you out of the physical requirements."

"A 'junior profiler'? Sorry, that sounds too much like an intern position, someone who is expected to follow you around and fetch coffee." Spencer smiled. "And, why would you want to circumvent the FBI's physical requirements? In the field, I'd hope that every agent had passed all of his or her qualifications."

Spencer pushed off from the desk where he'd been leaning. "Agent Hotchner has already advised me that most of those working for the BAU aren't field agents. Not every member of the team is required to physically chase suspects. You, for instance, are beyond the upper age limit for a pursuit team." He slid his hands into his suit-pants pockets. "I'd pass the firearms qualifications – I'd be surprised if you didn't know that already. In fact, I'm sure you do. My membership at my father's gun club should be listed in the background check you've already done."

Daniel's laughter scented the dusty college room with jasmine. Nice shot, Spencer, he thought to himself.

"As I told Agent Hotchner, I'm be more interested in a research position." He moved towards Gideon, decisive, calm. "But, be that as it may, if a junior position is all you're offering, I'll remain at my position here." Shaking hands with the apparently dumb-struck agent, Spencer smiled. "Feel free to contact me for freelance work. Adrian Bale was an interesting case study. I'll be sharing his profile with my graduate psychology students next semester, as well as the initial, error-filled profile that you and your team came up with."

"Wait." 

Spencer looked down at the tight grip Gideon had on his hand. Gideon released him quickly.

"I – ah," Gideon scratched at the back of his neck, the tips of his ears turning pink, "I think we got off on the wrong foot."

"I agree."

Gideon lifted his hands, chuckling. "You're only twenty-two. You have no experience. Did you think you could come into the BAU as anything but a junior agent?"

Daniel would have rolled his eyes if he'd been in his physical form. Jason Gideon was transparent – a dedicated man who believed he himself embodied the pinnacle of insight into his fellow men. What was particularly ironic was that Gideon did not recognize his own character flaws – Daniel couldn't imagine how he'd convinced anyone about his expertise as a profiler when his awareness of his own manipulations and heavy-handed strategies was so uninformed.

Daniel breezed up the stairs to the classroom doors. He rattled the knob, hoping to hurry Jason Gideon along with a reminder that students would be arriving soon for the next class. 

Spencer didn't really need his help. That didn't mean Daniel was going to allow Gideon to poke and prod at Spencer's confidence.

Recovering his hand from the BAU agent, Spencer spoke. "Agent Gideon, I have a doctorate in Abnormal Psychology, as well as one in Physics. Your offer of a junior position, under your direct control – under your thumb, actually – is insulting. And, according to your Unit Chief, a manipulative attempt to tie me to you. To harness whatever expertise I might have on the subject of serial criminals and present my findings as your own insights."

The shrill ring of a cell phone broke the stand-off. Gideon, his expression closed down, every line of his body taut with a mixture of anger and resentment, dug in his pocket for his phone.

He held onto eye contact with Spencer as he answered. "Gideon." Daniel noted a flicker in the man's dark eyes. "Yes. Yes." The words were hissed between clenched teeth. "I suppose you think you know what you're doing – " A man's raised voice sounded from the phone's speaker. "Fine." Gideon held the phone out to Spencer.

As soon as Spencer took the phone, Gideon huffed out a frustrated breath and hurried towards the doors. Daniel stuck the doors long enough for him to hear Spencer's greeting, and then followed the angry agent out of the auditorium and into the hallway.

"Hello? Agent Hotchner, it's good to hear from you."

Gideon's spirit churned, the darkness that threatened to swallow his best intentions clawing towards the center. Daniel coalesced and spun into human form at the other end of the empty hallway.

"Jason Gideon."

Gideon's eyes narrowed. Daniel's unassuming tweeds and plaid didn't seem threatening, but the power that manifested around his form would be hard to miss by someone much less perceptive than Jason Gideon.

"Please listen," Daniel continued. "Listen and remember." 

In a flash, Daniel had swept Gideon into an alternate reality – one where Spencer Reid had grown up far too fast, who had parented his sick mother, all alone after his father's abandonment. One where Jason Gideon and the BAU hadn't had the confident Reid's expert analysis of Adrian Bale to rely on. In that reality, Daniel forced Gideon to watch all of his arrogant mistakes leading to four FBI agents' deaths when the bomber's profile came out horribly flawed. 

Daniel stepped into the last image, Gideon beside him, trembling with fear. The Jason Gideon of the alternate timeline was being led from ruined building, smoke and dust and fire behind him. His hands were covered with blood, his eyes glazed as he followed the stretchers loaded down with the body bags of his colleagues. Flashbulbs strobed and Gideon flinched away, steadied by the tactical team's firm grip.

"Agent Hotchner forced you to accept Doctor Reid's analysis about Adrian Bale. If you hadn't – or if Doctor Reid never reached out to you with his insights – men would have died. And the blood literally would have been on your hands. Remember this, Jason. When you imagine your interaction with Spencer as that of a trainer and his pup, or some kind of circus ringmaster and his trained animal, remember that Spencer's abilities are far beyond yours. That he sees clearly where your sight is blurred by arrogance and selfishness. Remember, Jason."

Back in the college hallway, Daniel steadied Gideon with a light touch on his elbow. "Your car is waiting, sir. Just out that door."

Gideon hurried away as if the hounds of hell were after him.

Daniel smiled. He was okay with that.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The boy stayed on the edges, not quite a member of any of the knots of children gathered in the school cafeteria. It wasn't obvious – his bright blond head wasn't bent in shame or shyness. He smiled at others when they spoke to him, met the eyes of other children and adults, and seemed content with his bologna sandwich and carrot sticks.

Daniel glided through the energy of the busy school. He slipped into and out of classrooms, circling small groups of children, touching each teacher, custodian, and administrator. He barely dipped below the surface, tasting the thoughts and worries and dreams that floated there. The Others had taught him non-interference – not in the hands-off, arrogant, nose-in-the-air mentality Daniel had come to expect, but how to leave a man's or woman's mind unchanged by his passage. It took far more effort to drift unnoticed among humanity than it did to turn a head or reveal himself in a blaze of glowing energy.

Subtlety had never been one of Daniel's natural gifts.

He had no disappearing father to confront today. The men and women in this school were not perfect, they were petty or depressed or vindictive or lazy in their own ways. Little problems, faint, grey evils of everyday life darkened the soul of the school in patches and fragments. But Haley had chosen well for her son – the school might not be the shiniest, with the newest technology and the highest academic standing in the community, but the people, the teachers – Daniel was touched by their dedication. Their devotion to do their best to serve their students.

Jack Hotchner's thoughts were simple. He was worried about where he'd left his homework. There was something in his left shoe that was digging at his heel. He wished his mom would let him buy his lunch like the bigger kids sometimes. But, at the heart of the child, coloring each thought and memory, Jack missed his father.

As well as a child could, Jack understood. His daddy had told him about the bad man who wanted to hurt him, hurt them. Daddy hunted bad men and put them where they couldn't hurt anyone else ever again. And he'd do that this time, too. But it was taking a long, long time. And Jack's mom was nervous, clingy, repeating the rules over and over again every day. Marshal Sam was nice, but he wasn't like Jack's daddy. He wasn't strong and tall, able to lift Jack up with one hand. He wasn't a superhero.

Daniel lifted away from the child, leaving with a brush of air and a warm, lingering hug. Soon, he promised. You'll see your daddy soon, Jack, Daniel whispered. The child's smile seemed brighter as Daniel drifted away.

The elevator opened on the sixth floor a moment after Daniel took on human guise once again. Not his own form – not this time. Daniel Jackson had no place within the rigidly structured FBI. This time, Daniel had slid within the body and spirit of Agent Stephen Phillips, leader of BAU Team Four. Phillips was still here, walking through his day as if it was a dream, a fever-dream. But he'd remember his actions, his words, how the pieces of information had seemed to fall into place before his Team that morning when they'd been bewildered by Foyet for months. Even now Daniel felt Phillips' excitement; the hunter poised to strike.

Daniel adjusted his tie, smoothing his lanyard down on his chest and hefted the file folders in his left hand. The gun on his right hip felt almost right – give him a set of BDUs and he wouldn't have noticed the weight at all. Even the breathless tension of the BAU bullpen as he opened the glass doors seemed like coming home. Strange. He ducked his head to hide his smile. He should have been more comfortable in Jack's school than striding through the FBI, dressed as an agent.

Oh, how he'd changed.

"Can I help you, Agent …"

"Phillips." Daniel held out his hand to the dark-skinned agent in front of him. "Stephen Phillips. I'm from Team Four. And I need to brief Agent Hotchner and then your team, right away."

Beyond Derek Morgan's shoulders, Daniel noticed the others were staring. Muscles tense. Wary. Ready in that way that SG teams about to enter a wormhole held themselves. 

"Team Four? Isn't that the team –" Spencer Reid unfolded his long, lean form from his desk.

" – that's trying to track Foyet." David Rossi's hands were clenched tightly around the rail of the raised platform, his knuckles white.

"Come on."

Morgan showed Daniel to Hotchner's office where the dark-haired Unit Chief stood to greet him. Daniel closed the door between the two and the rest of Hotchner's team, but he knew the others were waiting just outside. 

"My son –" Hotchner began.

Daniel held up one hand. "Jack is fine. He's at school. And I've already alerted the Marshals Service to send teams there and to your wife's house. Just in case."

Hotchner held out a steady hand, his jaw tight, eyes narrowed. "He's here, isn't he?"

"Foyet is in the area, yes." Daniel handed over the files. "We believe so." As Hotchner read through the information Daniel had compiled, the alias of Peter Rhea, anagram of The Reaper, the trace on the man's movements, phones, and computers, Daniel watched the spark in Hotchner's dark eyes. The quivering of his muscles.

"My team is ready when you are, Agent."

Hotchner nodded, his mouth a grim line. "Let's go."

There was no shoot-out. No empty apartment holding only a computer set to delete all files and more taunting messages for the haunted Hotchner. Daniel let Agent Phillips' instincts and training lead, placing the members of the tactical team and organizing the strategy to make Foyet believe he was still safe, still hidden. Foyet barely had time to reach for his weapon when the lead of the tactical unit – he reminded Daniel a lot of Lou Ferretti – placed a bullet right between the serial killer's eyes.

It wouldn't make a very exciting episode of television, but this ending, this climax of Aaron Hotchner's story was real-life closure. The end of grief. The healing of two families – Hotchner's and the BAU team. The cauterizing of Hotch's knife-wounds that had still been bleeding. 

Daniel stood over the body, almost ready to let Phillips awaken. This was a grim reality. A world filled with predators and prey, and always too many of both. There were heroes here, without spandex or capes or secret identities, men and women who put themselves between evil and its targets. Daniel let his gaze linger on each member of Hotchner's team, releasing enough energy to shore up spirits, to open hardened souls to joy, and to link this team together more deeply, more honestly than before. These were small gifts, but the agents gathered around Hotchner, offering a word of hope, a smile, a touch, would need them.

"Thank you."

Daniel looked up into Hotchner's wide, tear-filled eyes. "Just doing my job," he replied, one side of his mouth lifting. 

"Right," Hotchner drawled, a fleeting smile matching Daniel's. "You didn't have to include us. You didn't even have to let us know what was happening. It wasn't exactly protocol."

Daniel knew the right answer to that. "Of course, I did. I'm not just an FBI agent. Someone who enforces laws and rules and protocols. I'm a man. Just like you. A man who loves his family. His friends. And I know what it means to be on a team that blends one into the other. I hope both of those roles play a larger part in my actions than any oaths of obedience and fidelity ever will."

"There's a quote I have displayed in my office," Daniel continued. "It was written by E. M. Forster. 'If I had to choose between betraying my country and betraying my friend, I hope I should have the guts to betray my country.'"

Hotchner nodded, overcome. 

Daniel lowered his head to gaze up at the man – the agent, the father, the husband – as if he was looking over the top of his glasses. "What are you still doing here, Aaron? There's a little boy about twenty minutes away who needs a ride home from school."

Before he'd finished his statement, Hotchner was already gone.  
   
Epilogue 

The universe spun and Daniel lingered in the soft shadows of the cloudy, late November day. With Daniel's spirit lifted away, Phillips had finished rounding up his agents, given orders to the on-scene techs to collect the evidence, and turned himself over to the EMTs to get checked out. A slight fever – an ear infection, the EMTs determined - assured the agent that a sense of distance, of light-headedness, was completely normal. He moved off with his supervisor to discuss the fatal outcome. Rossi had volunteered to drive Hotchner to his son – he'd been the right choice. Rossi knew how to deal with Haley's emotions as well as the breakdown Aaron was liable to suffer now that all the danger was past and little Jack was in his arms again.

The other members of Hotchner's team were subdued. They didn't crow or grin at the thought of Foyet's death. In fact, they acted a lot like an SG team after a successful battle. People had been hurt, killed – no one could rejoice about that outcome. But, then again …

"Karma's a bitch."

Daniel's energy flickered like laughter. "Not exactly a Zen Koan, is it, Oma?"

"Truth is truth," the Ascended being brightened as if she was taking a deep breath. "Are you finished here, Daniel?"

He hesitated. A tall thin man raised one hand to his eyes and squinted up into the sky. Spencer Reid. 

His life since Daniel and Oma's intervention hadn't been perfect, any more than Harry Potter's or Tony DiNozzo's had been. Spencer had been hurt – and had hurt others. But there had been no hostage situation in a hospital or graveyard. No Dilaudid. No guilt over his fears for his mother's mind – and his own. No manipulative father/son dynamic with Jason Gideon – and so no added grief at the man's eventual selfish abandonment. He had good friends in JJ and Morgan and Emily. A great role model in Hotch. He had a job that allowed his intellect and insight to help others. 

Spencer Reid was a good man. Devoted to his mother. Generous with his friends. And valued by his colleagues. He continued to stare up towards the sky. 

"Finished," Daniel responded. He slid through the crowd that had gathered beyond the police barricades and ruffled Spencer's hair before following Oma back into the crowded universes.

"What's that little smile for, Spence?" JJ nudged Spencer's elbow as they walked towards their SUV.

"Just thanking my Guardian Angel," he answered.

JJ laughed, one hand on his arm, before sliding into the back seat. 

Spencer looked up at the sky. "Thanks, Daniel."


End file.
